


A Dance for the King - Part IV

by sporadic_obsession



Series: A Dance for the King - A Medieval SakuAtsu Story [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Belly Dancing, M/M, Miya Atsumu Needs a Hug, Miya Atsumu is an Idiot, Sad Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, don’t think this actually counts as angst?, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporadic_obsession/pseuds/sporadic_obsession
Summary: A week after the incident with Atsumu’s past, the King holds a ball.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: A Dance for the King - A Medieval SakuAtsu Story [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112663
Comments: 13
Kudos: 153





	A Dance for the King - Part IV

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another installment of this sakuatsu brain rot! No warnings on this one, except Atsumu being an overthinking idiot (I love him).  
> Kudos and comments much appreciated!  
> If you wanna scream at me on twitter about this, you can find me [here](https://twitter.com/sprdc_obssn)!  
> Also, thank you to [@dann_griselda](https://twitter.com/dann_griselda) over on twitter for [this lovely drawing](%E2%80%9C) that inspired Atsumu’s outfit for this! Go give the girl some much-deserved love!

Things at the castle have been different.

It’s been six months and a week after the Miya twins’ arrival, and the day of the ball is finally upon them. The past week, after the incident with the nobleman, Atsumu hasn’t had a chance to be alone. Not that he really minds, but it’s been doing things to him, to his emotions, that he isn’t sure he should be allowing.

For the past few days, Atsumu is never seen around the castle without the King’s presence next to him. When the dancer goes to the kitchens to bother his brother, King Sakusa is right behind, masking his amusement whenever Osamu cracks a joke at his twin brother’s expense. Whenever Atsumu wants to enjoy the summer heat by laying in the grass, the King lays next to him, listening to Atsumu’s voice as he reads one of the books he’s borrowed from the King’s shelf. It’s gotten to a point where Atsumu has his own chair next to the King’s throne at the throne room, so he can whisper to him over the boredom of greeting newcomers, eyes shining when he manages to pull a smile from the King’s lips.

He likes the way things have turned out, despite what led them here. He finds himself staring at the King longer than strictly necessary, finding the curve of his lips more enchanting than anything he’s ever seen before. He falls asleep to the sound of the man’s voice as he reads a story that reminds him so much of his childhood, he’s conditioned to smile even though the memories hurt a little to reminisce about. He finds himself watching the King sleep and tracing the veins in his arms with the tip of his finger, committing it to memory.

He knows he’s treading a dangerous territory here. Their agreement entitled Atsumu dancing whenever the King orders, and having sex with the man whenever he desires. He’d been pretty clear - no courting, no marriage; which is to say, no feelings. Atsumu tells himself it’s just a small crush, a consequence of the caring treatment he’s received from the King, but if he allows himself to be honest, he knows it’s way past that already.

Atsumu keeps quiet about his feelings, although he wishes he could at least talk to Osamu about it. Still, he has no chance to, since whenever he goes to see his brother, the King follows; he can’t exactly shake the man off for long enough to complain to his twin about his budding emotions. He almost resents how protective the King has been, but can’t find it in himself to complain; something warm curls inside his chest if he thinks just a little too hard about it.

For the first time in days, he’s managed to find some time away from the King, however. With the ball happening tonight, the King has been stolen away from his side, courtesy of his tailor, so they can get him ready. Although Atsumu misses the comforting presence, he can’t help the satisfied smile when he realizes that the King assigned Bokuto and Hinata to accompany him throughout the day, so he won’t be alone, still. He appreciates the thought, and since they are his closest friends besides Samu and Sunarin, inside this place, he doesn’t mind.

“Samu!” Atsumu’s voice is loud and excited as he enters the kitchen, the staff offering him a greeting, ready to bow when they see the King. “Om- uh, the King’s busy getting ready for the ball, so I’ve come to chat!” He announces, finding the first empty stool he can - usually reserved for the King - and plopping himself down on it, Bokuto and Hinata right behind.

“Maybe he’s finally grown tired of yer stupid face,” Osamu responds from where he’s mixing some ingredients leisurely, not even looking up.

“We have the same face, stupid!” The older of the twins instantly says, a whine in his voice as he says it. “Wouldn’t blame ‘im, though...” He grumbles, anyway, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches his brother work. “Speakin’ of that, though, I gotta talk to ya.”

“Could it be about the fact yer in love with the King?”

“Samu!” Atsumu feels his his cheeks flush bright red as he hisses at his brother’s words. “Shaddup, ‘m not in love with ‘im!” The dancer ignores the snickers from behind him. “S’not like that. I jus’ think Omi’s nice.”

“Omi, huh?” Osamu stops his work to stare down his brother, an eyebrow raised. “And what do ya mean, ya jus’ think he’s nice, Tsumu? Yer making heart eyes at ‘im whenever ya look at the man, s’not like yer bein’ subtle about it.”

“I’m- I don’ do that.” Under his brother’s unwavering gaze, Atsumu huffs, glancing back at the guards that are keeping him company for the day. “Do I?”

“It’s okay, TsumTsum! It’s pretty cute. Reminds me of when Akaashi and I were still courting each other but didn’t want to admit it,” Bokuto says, smile bright as he ruffles the hair at the top of Atsumu’s head.

“Besides,” Hinata interrupts Atsumu as he’s about to speak, “I think His Majesty likes you too, Atsumu-san. I’ve never seen him go out of his way to have any of his past lovers stick around as much as he does with you.”

Atsumu knows Hinata means well, he does, which is why he doesn’t show how the words affect him. The reminder that he’s just another one of the King’s lovers is a bitter one, especially in the middle of trying to understand his growing feelings for the man.

“Ah, s’just ‘cause of what happened last week, I think he feels guilty or somethin’,” Atsumu dismisses the orange-haired guard’s words with ease, standing from his stool and stretching his limbs. “Anyway. Can ya walk me back to the room? Gotta get ready for tonight.”

“Tsumu...” Osamu sounds concerned; Atsumu dismisses his brother with a smile.

“I’ll see ya tonight, Samu. You an’ Sunarin will be there, right?”

Atsumu doesn’t wait for a reply, knowing that if he allows his brother to drag the conversation further, he’ll realize what the dancer is thinking about. Instead, he gives a small wave and skips towards the exit, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks - more clothes given to him by the King - as he starts the path back to the King’s quarters. He doesn’t strike up conversation with the guards, like he had done earlier; he whistles a tune under his breath to keep his head busy with the sound, the familiarity of the halls allowing him to be distracted as they escort him back to his room.

He waves them off with a grin when they reach the end of the hall where the room is, sliding into the King’s quarters and closing the door behind him softly. When he’s finally alone, finally allowed to exist as he is, his smile fades and he frowns down at his hands. He got carried away with his emotions, but Hinata’s words brought him back to reality - he’s nothing special, just another man who’s serving the King, another one to add to a list he’s never even asked about.

Allowing himself to wallow in his misery for a few moments, Atsumu stays with his back against the door, eyes watching the sunlight stream into the room calmly. It’s still warm, summer trickling by slowly as Atsumu watches the days go by. He knows that once seasons change, so will his demeanor, so he tries to hold tightly onto his bubbly, loud personality for the time being, while he has enough energy for it; can’t let himself stay down for long.

Taking a deep breath, the dancer disposes of his clothes as he walks to the bath, filling the tub with enough water to clean him inside out, to wash away the lingering sadness that sticks to his skin like the sheen of sweat that’s gathered over his body. He soaks off for as long as he can, and when he walks away he feels refreshed and ready to perform his duty. The King had picked his outfit for him, and let him know he was to dance at the ball to entertain their- no, his guests. Atsumu doesn’t mind, it has been a while since he’s performed for someone else; he is actually excited at the prospect.

Drying himself off, the dancer pulls the bottom half of his outfit over his legs. Unlike his usual choice of loose pants, the King’s actually picked a long, flowing skirt for him to wear; not that he minds, he just never got around to find one he liked enough to keep. This one, however, he appreciates - it’s loose enough that it moves with the slightest of steps, a slit up one side revealing the curves of his strong thigh underneath. It’s two-toned, the white at the top fading into a beautiful bright red that matches the coloring of the mask that King Sakusa picked for him as well.

Atsumu usually likes to wear a top in order to maintain some sort of modesty, but this time he’s going shirtless. On his arms, he clamps two black leather bracelets at the wrists, hiding his still healing scratch marks from the week prior, and they’re connected by a beautiful golden chain to two fine bracelets of the same tone that are closed around his biceps. The bracelets match the color of the charms and chains on his skirt, and Atsumu doesn’t dare wonder if they’re made of real gold; he prefers to think it’s just a cheap imitation.

He remains shoeless as he grabs the mask waiting for him at the top of the dresser. It’s different to what he’s used to, much different. Instead of covering the lower half of his face, this mask covers the top, an intricate design painted in red on its white base, reminding Atsumu of a fox. He ties it carefully behind his head and finds the nearest mirror to check his reflection, unable to contain the gasp at the sight - he almost doesn’t recognize himself, his eyes seemingly sharper with the way the mask is designed, and with the way the golden charms and bracelets reflect the sunlight, he appears almost ethereal.

He makes sure everything is tied properly and adjusts a few heavy pieces of metal around his hips, before taking a final deep breath and leaving the room.

He finds Hinata waiting for him outside, dressed in a sharper attire than earlier, and offers the guard a smile, genuine this time around. The two walk in amicable silence towards the same room where the banquet was held, half a year ago, and the sounds of music filter through to the hallway before they even reach it. Atsumu lets the sound wash over him, ease into his bones and set the beat for his heart.

Hinata leads him inside and to the bottom of the stairs that lead to the King’s throne. Atsumu realizes that where his chair usually stands, another throne has been added, dressed in gold and intricate designs much like the King’s own. Something ugly flips inside his chest at the thought of who will eventually sit on it. Maybe the King has finally decided on courting someone to wed, so that he can continue the lineage of his name and assure the future leadership of their kingdom.

“Miya,” the King greets, and Atsumu finds himself bowing, offering his respect to the man, in order to hide the downturn twist of his lips as his heart seems to hurt inside his chest. “Thank you for joining us. You may dance, now.”

Atsumu gives a curt nod even while bowing, and turns before the King can see his face. He walks to the center of the room, where the guests have made a space for him. They’re watching him with interest in their gaze, and Atsumu feeds on their attention, lets himself forget about his earlier troubles as the music continues to play around him. He’s prepared for this, so it comes as no surprise as he starts to swing his hips from side to side, the gold tinkling as he does so, hands rising above his head as he twists his wrists in an hypnotizing dance. He starts slow, building a rhythm as the music progresses and his feet start moving, taking him in circles as he bends and swirls.

When the music is so fast it’s almost impossible to keep up, he does. His skirt fans out around him as he turns, arms moving fast in sweeping motions as he enchants the room as they watch him. The song crescendoes and he follows the swell of it, until it’s suddenly gone. He drops to his knees at the pause, and forgets he’s being watched as a smirk crosses his lips. He’s facing the King, now, and his brain is so inebriated with the feeling of dancing that he allows himself to just watch him for a moment, as he catches his breath.

King Sakusa is dressed in a sharp white outfit, his pants hugging his legs just right, and his coat falling down to his crotch, covering the area just at its limit; there’s golden accessories on his coat as well, similar to the ones on Atsumu’s skirt, and his sword is sheathed by his hip. He’s wearing his crown and mantle once more, but it’s a different one to the one he wore to the banquet. This one is shimmering in the sun, made of velvet, Atsumu is sure, but pure white - except at the bottom, where the red peeks through from what Atsumu can see.

For a delirious moment, he almost thinks they’re matching.

He clears his brain of the thought as the music picks up again in a slow, steady rhythm. He knows this song, has danced it many times, so there’s no hesitation as he starts his performance once again. He remains kneeling on the floor, bending backwards over his legs as his hands twist above him, and he closes his eyes. Dancing is almost his second-nature, something as easy to him as breathing, so he doesn’t have to watch as he starts his ascent.

He kneels, once more, leaning his weight on his thighs, one of them peeking through from where the slit of his skirt has fallen open, and his arms take on an elegant poise as he continues to move them. This dance is usually more private, granted to old clients who paid good money for it, but Atsumu doesn’t hold back; he performs as if he’s doing it for his King only, because, in his heart, that’s what it means. He ignores the other people in the room as he rolls and turns on the floor, eyes finding King Sakusa leaning forward in his throne, watching his every move.

He goes through his routine with his eyes stuck on the dark-haired man, heart beating faster when he sees just how enraptured he is by him. He reminds himself it’s simply because of the dance, it’s because his body is rolling in tantalizing ways that should be reserved for the privacy of their bed; it’s not because it’s Atsumu, specifically. If it had been anyone else - perhaps any of his past lovers, even - the King would react just the same.

When the song is over and Atsumu stops dancing, he takes a second to breathe before he bows, the guests offering him an applause for his entertainment. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s back home, back in the town that watched him grow, and this is just another day of work. He pretends the clapping is from his usual clients, and that he gets to go home with his brother, now, and sleep.

He realizes, in that moment, that he misses home.

Despite the fact they barely had any money to live comfortably, and that their house was much too small for two grown adults to live in, he misses the times when his heart wasn’t conflicted about a man he can never have. He misses seeing his brother so often they almost grew sick of each other, and greeting the townspeople with a charming smile and a helping hand. He misses the freedom of wandering down to the river and letting its water wash over him when he’s too tired to think.

He misses his home.

Straightening from his bow, Atsumu is surprised to find the King descending the stairs from his throne. Just like he had guessed earlier, the mantle that flows down his back is two-toned, like his own skirt, with the red bleeding upwards from the bottom until it’s overtaken by white. The King’s sword is nowhere in sight, probably handed over to one of his guards, and his expression is soft as he holds out a hand for the dancer.

“May I have one dance with you?” The King asks, his voice low as if he wants only Atsumu to hear him.

He should say no; for the sake of his feelings, and in order to not ruin the King’s image amongst his people, he should politely decline and walk away. Give him the chance to mingle with the other nobles, find a suitor worthy of him. Yet, Atsumu takes his hand and gives a small nod, unable to help himself. He knows what he needs to do after this, knows he must break their arrangement before it damages him further, but, for now, he’ll take what he can get.

Atsumu has never been one for slow dancing; he knows how to do it, has been pulled into it enough times to know the steps for it, but it has never been his favorite way to dance. It’s much too intimate; there’s too much contact, not enough freedom. Still, he allows the King to wrap his arm around his back and pull him so close he feels the cold of the gold chains of his jacket against his chest, and rests his own hands on the man’s shoulders, over his mantle.

He doesn’t look the King in the face, knowing that if he does, he’ll lose himself completely. He can’t stare at him up close, because it will stir memories of mornings spent counting his eyelashes as the man sleeps peacefully; it will remind him of how beautiful he looks when he smiles softly at something Atsumu says without thinking; it will weaken him to the thought of his lips dragging across Atsumu’s own in a slow, lazy kiss after they’re both satisfied with each other’s bodies.

He makes a point of keeping his head straight, looking over the King’s shoulder as he guides them across the floor. If it didn’t hurt so much, thinking about what he has to do, he’s sure he would be enjoying this dance a lot; the warmth of the King’s hand on his skin is searing, the feel of his breath against his cheek causes a storm to rage inside his chest. They’re so close, yet not close enough; not like Atsumu’s heart has decided he wants them to be.

“Atsumu.” His name is called in a whisper against his ear, and the dancer shivers despite himself; he can’t help his reaction, really. “Atsumu, what’s wrong? You’ve looked sad all night,” the King presses on, continuing to slide with Atsumu in his arms across the room, even though the song has changed and their one dance is already over.

“It’s nothing, my King,” he murmurs in return, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray his wavering heart.

“My King? Not Omi?” There’s a tone of something akin to sadness in the King’s voice, but Atsumu pretends not to hear it.

“We’re in public, my King.”

“They can’t hear you, Atsu,” the King insists, and the dam breaks inside the dancer’s chest at the nickname. It’s a name only the King has ever called him, spoken in soft whispers between bedsheets or over his head as he holds him, and it’s so private, so theirs, he can’t help himself.

“My King... Omi,” Atsumu whispers almost brokenly, gathering his strength. “I can’t do this anymore... I miss home, I miss the people in town an’ bein’ able to see Samu every day. I’ve enjoyed my time here a lot, but...” He pauses for a moment, catching sight of the second throne placed besides the King’s own, and continues. “But I can’t stay. Ya hafta find someone to marry, eventually, an’ with me around that’s not possible. Ya deserve to find someone worthy of ya, someone who you’ll be able to show off at these things, someone who’ll give you a son to carry on your legacy.”

The two stop dancing in the middle of the room, and Atsumu finds the last of his strength to pull back slightly, offering a sad smile to his King. His expression is stoic, frozen as his dark eyes stare into Atsumu’s light brown ones, and he lifts a hand to caress his cheek for a moment, uncaring of the consequences for the time being.

“Yer a good man, Omi. An even greater king. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble findin’ someone worthy of you, someone who’ll love ya without bringin’ shame to yer name,” Atsumu’s voice feels small and wet as he realizes he’s holding back tears, but he forces himself to go on. “It has been my honor to stand by yer side for this long, my King. Thank you.”

Before he can think twice about it, Atsumu leans forward and plants a chaste kiss to the King’s frozen lips, pulling back before he has a chance to react.

It hurts.

It hurts so much, pulling back and walking away without a second glance, but he has to do it. He knows he’s sullied the King’s name enough, kissing him in front of all these strangers, but it was his one selfish act amidst all of his selflessness. He’s sure the King will be able to recover.

There’s no guard to accompany him back to the King’s quarters, but Atsumu doesn’t mind. He enjoys the silence of the hallways as he makes his way back. He just needs to change out of these clothes, grab his own, and leave; he’s sure someone will let Samu know about what happened, and he’ll understand. Atsumu will wait for him at home, if he wants to return; if not, he’ll learn to live a life by himself. He’s sure the King will be kind enough to allow his brother to stay at the castle with Suna, if he wants to.

Reaching the room he’s been calling his own for half a year now, Atsumu doesn’t give himself enough time to mourn. He didn’t cry when he learned of his own mother’s death, why should he cry now? He removes his mask and swallows his tears, changing into the same clothes he’d worn when he first arrived at the castle in a haze. Finding his satchel, he shoves what he recognizes as his own outfits into it, leaving any clothes given to him by the King tucked safely inside the dresser.

He’s just about done packing his belongings when the door opens behind him.

“What d’ya think yer doin’, ya big idiot?” His brother’s voice is a little too loud, coated in anger Atsumu doesn’t understand; or maybe he does, maybe Osamu is mad because he thinks he’ll have to leave as well.

“I’m leavin’, Samu. Goin’ home,” he replies, keeping his voice as steady as he can but unable to face his twin. “Ya can stay here with Sunarin if you want, I don’ mind. I just... I hafta go, Samu.”

“Why, Tsumu? ‘Cause ya think yer not good enough? ‘Cause ya think the King’s gonna find someone else who’s better for him? ‘Cause ya can’t stand the thought of him leaving you for someone else?”

“Yes!” Atsumu loses his temper for a moment, yelling at his twin with all the burning rage within him. “I don’ wanna he here to watch that, okay? He does deserve better, I’m just a stupid dancer, nothin’ more. If it wasn’t for the dancin’, he never would’ve looked at me, an’ that would’a been the best. He deserves more than I can give ‘im, an’ I’m not gonna stand ‘round here long enough to see him find someone who can.”

“Yer a fuckin’ idiot.” Osamu’s voice is lower, calmer, but Atsumu hears the anger simmering underneath; he recognizes it easily, from years of living in close quarters with him. “Did’cha see the way he looked at you when you two were dancin’? His mantle fuckin’ matched yer skirt, for Gods’ sake! He got a new fuckin’ throne in the room for ya an’ yer stupid ass is leavin’? Are ya serious?”

“Wha- no, no he didn’t.” Atsumu clenches his jaw, hard, and looks away from his twin. “He couldn’t. I’m no one, I don’- he said it was just sex. Dancing and sex. No courtin’. No marryin’. That he’s done this before. Yer wrong.”

“Well, did’ja ask him?”

“I—.”

“You should’ve.”

Atsumu snaps his face to the door when he hears a new voice, low and familiar, and just who he doesn’t want to see. He escaped the ballroom in the hopes the King wouldn’t follow; that his duties were more important than this fleeting thing they’ve shared.

Apparently, the man really doesn’t know his priorities.

“Right, I’m gonna go now, then. Don’t be an idiot, Tsumu,” Osamu says in a grumble, and Atsumu barely catches him bow before the King. “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” he says, before he disappears down the hallway.

Atsumu doesn’t break the silence that falls upon them; he doesn’t know how to. After all he said to the King, after breaking off their arrangement with no chance for the man to try and keep it, he doesn’t know if he should even talk, or look at him like he is. He makes no move to look away, however, taking in the downturn of the King’s lips and the crease between his eyebrows as he stares right back at him.

“Our arrangement is broken, Miya,” the King says after a while, and although he was the one to instigate it, it still breaks him inside to hear the words spoken so coldly. He looks away, at last. “You’ve made that very clear. You are free to go home, if you wish; I will have Hinata escort you back.” Atsumu swallows back more of the darkness that wants to consume him, and gives a curt nod. “I want to know why, though.”

“I’ve told ya why.” The dancer’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries through to the man by the door, anyway.

“No. You told me what you suppose I need to do, what you think should be my future; you didn’t tell me why you think that.” There’s a pause, as if the King expects Atsumu to explain, but he remains quiet. “Atsumu. Have I not showed you enough how beautiful you are? Have I not given you enough of my affection? I know I can be quite aloof in regards to other’s emotions, but I have been trying. What more do I need to do for you to realize I love you?”

Atsumu swears his heart has stopped beating inside his chest. He feels like he’s suspended in this moment, time stopping around him as he turns to look at the King, eyes widening as the words sink in. Love? The King loves him?

“You- what?” He breaks his silence then, voice still a whisper as he watches the King walk closer; possibly so he can better hear what he has to say. “Why? I’m... M’not worthy. I’m just a dancer. I’m just another one of yer lovers. I’m nothin’ special.”

“Atsumu.” The King interrupts him before he can go any further, a hand raising to cup his cheek, much like Atsumu had done just a while ago. “You’re everything, Atsumu. You brightened up my life in ways I didn’t think were possible. I haven’t felt the cold grip of loneliness ever since you moved here. Your smile is enough to make any tedious task I have to go through much easier.”

“Omi...”

“No, keep quiet for a moment.” The King’s thumb moves to Atsumu’s lips, effectively stopping the dancer from moving them. “Atsumu. If you miss town, I’ll gladly go there with you. I’d like to get to know more about where you grew up. If you miss your brother, I’ll find a way to lessen his workload so you can see him more often. I’ll give you anything you could ever want, but in return I ask only for you to stay. For you to continue to be by my side, to smile at me when you think I’m not looking, to kiss my forehead when you think I’m asleep.”

“Yer awake for that?!” His indignation gives way to a chuckle from the King, and Atsumu can’t help the blush that climbs high up his cheeks.

“Atsumu. I know this isn’t common. I understand that. But I would gladly give up my kingdom if I could keep you by my side.” Atsumu looks at the King’s face, trying to find any trace of hesitation on it. He finds none. “But I’d much prefer if I could keep both. Forget about what you think is right, what you think I deserve. Do you love me?”

“Omi...”

“Do. You. Love. Me?”

Atsumu’s eyes flicker between Sakusa’s dark ones, and he knows he can’t lie; not when he’s looking at him so eagerly, so honest.

“Of course I do, Omi-Omi... I love ya so much I was willin’ to give ya up, even though I’m, like, the most selfish person I know. And ya know I know a lotta people.” He lifts a hand to rest it over the King’s, still gently cradling his cheek, and squeezes his fingers softly. “I love ya so much it hurt just to think I’d hafta let ya go someday. I didn’t wanna leave - I still don’t. But you’re the King, Omi... Ya have a duty to fulfill, an’ I’m just a commoner.”

“Atsumu. I love you. I don’t think the people will care who I marry, so long as I continue to rule them properly. The only person who’s worried about any of that is you, you idiot.”

“Omi!” Atsumu whines softly, but rests his forehead against the slightly taller man’s, a smile aching to break through his lips. “I thought ya weren’t askin’ for my hand in my marriage, when we made our arrangement,” he teases, unable to help himself; he loves the flustered expression in his King’s face.

“I wasn’t,” the dark-haired man mumbles, but before Atsumu can continue, he adds, “but I am now.I love you, Atsumu. If there’s anyone I’d like to share the Sakusa lineage with, that person will always be you. We’ll find a way to continue our family, when the time comes for it. For now, I just want you to be mine. Not because I command it as your King, but because you love me enough to grant me the happiness of being my husband.”

“Omi, are ya sure?” Atsumu’s whisper is answered with just a nod, and he gulps.

Can he allow himself to have this? Is he ready to take this step, to face the consequences of falling in love with someone so high above his status?

He’s scared. He’s afraid of what the nobles will think, of what the townspeople will gossip behind his back. He’s scared of what his brother will say, and if this will change the way his friends regard him. He’s scared of what the people will think of the King settling for a commoner, of it leading to an uproar. He’s scared of all the terrible things that can come from this.

And yet.

He can see in his head the way his brother will smile when he tells him he’s going to marry the love of his life, and the way he’ll tease Samu about proposing to his own lover. He can imagine Bokuto and Hinata hugging him, and the rest of the staff congratulating him with a smile. He can imagine walking through his town with the King beside him, the people greeting them with smiles and offers of kindness. He can see himself growing older, wrapped inside arms that warm even the coldest pits of his soul.

“Alright... alright. Ask me properly, Omi-Omi. Ask me properly an’ I’ll give ya my answer.” He whispers after a few moments of silence, and can’t stop the pout when the King pulls back.

He watches the man fall down on one knee and one of his hands retrieve a beautiful velvet box from an inside pocket in his coat. The King flips it open with his index finger and holds it in his palm, the other hand holding onto Atsumu’s fingers as he looks up at dancer. Atsumu had expected him just to ask the question, not all of this; it makes him tremble to think the King’s been carrying that ring with him all night, in order to do just this.

“Miya Atsumu — will you marry me?”

There’s a beat of silence, a sniffle, and then a smile that rivals the brightness of full moon outside.

“‘Course I will, Kiyo.”


End file.
